


A Need for Strength

by Avanalae



Series: The Love and Affection of Timothy Drake [3]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Birthday Cake, Birthday Party, Birthday Presents, Clothing Kink, Comfort, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Literal Sleeping Together, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Tears, Teasing, Tim Drake Gets a Hug, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:13:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26622727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avanalae/pseuds/Avanalae
Summary: Now that the four of them have returned to their normal forms, things can go back to normal. However, that's not what happens. When Tim runs from the confrontation, Bruce follows. What comes after is tears, pain, and confessions. Through those, they all find the strength to improve and grow closer. A family, a true family, now.It doesn't take long for things to turn a bit differently for two of them, though, and all things lead up to Tim's 20th birthday. Tim gets many gifts that day, but with a bit of help he'll get what he really wants; what he's wanted for many, many years. His heart is out there, and so is the other's. They just have to come together and hold on.NOTE: Immediate continuation of part 1 in this series. Will not make much sense without it.
Relationships: Tim Drake/Bruce Wayne
Series: The Love and Affection of Timothy Drake [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1877212
Comments: 17
Kudos: 171





	A Need for Strength

**Author's Note:**

> SO! This was requested by dear Rahn (miss anne thropy) for her birthday last week. I'm so sorry for the wait, my dear, I hope you enjoy this oodles. 😘 I had gone into writing this expecting it to be like the gen chapter I wrote, short but emotional and good, but it tried to run away from me. I wrangled it back well enough, but here we are with almost 9k words. 🙄 I'm quite happy with how it turned out, though, so I don't have any regrets. 
> 
> Beware many sads in the beginning!! It gets better and is much happier towards the end. :) xoxo

_The smoke clears from the room._

_Tim takes a deep breath and looks up, meeting their eyes with careful neutrality._

_He can handle whatever happens next._

_He’s fine._

* * *

He’s not fine.

Bruce stands in front of the other three, so big and imposing that his heart starts to race. The man hasn’t looked away from him, either and Tim can feel panic starting to creep in. He doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t want to face this.

When Bruce takes a small step forwards, towards Tim, he turns and bolts.

He doesn’t see Bruce gesture to the others, keeping them back, but he feels those eyes follow him until he disappears through the door into the house.

* * *

Tim didn’t even change before diving into his bed. He curls under the covers, tucking them around himself desperately, trying to hide and comfort himself at the same time. It’s easy to berate himself for running away like a scaredy-cat, too afraid to face his fears like he has done so often before. He was Robin, he is Red Robin, and he is now a failure for running away from even the possibility of rejection.

Choking on the sobs that try to escape, he furiously blinks away the tears and buries his face in the pillows. He can’t breathe well at all, but maybe then he’ll just pass out and not have to deal with anything. With the expected rejection or the self-hate or the knowledge that he’s going to have to come out eventually and have to interact with the people he’d just run from.

Tim doesn’t know how much time has passed, but his pillow is soaking wet and his sobs have turned into quiet hitches of breath. The tears still flow in steady streams and he can’t even sniffle, he’s so congested. But he feels a bit calmer, even though it’s mostly because he can’t think well through the exhaustion.

There’s a soft noise and Tim makes himself open his eyes, even though he can’t see past the covers he’s buried in. He tenses in surprise when he hears the door of his room being shut softly. He waits, cursing himself because even though he had locked the door that means nothing in the house of Bats. Hardly daring to breathe, Tim tries to listen as hard as he can for any more noise.

Just as he starts to relax – just a bit – he’s grabbed, covers and all, and lifted into the air. The noise he makes is a choking scream and he tries to struggle, but large, strong arms are wrapped around him. They hold down his own thin arms and practically render his upper half immobile. With his heart in his throat, he tries to strike out with his legs, but they are easily avoided.

Suddenly Tim is lying down again, still mostly covered by the blankets. Blinking away fresh tears he looks up and sees that he’s lying on his side against another, much larger man, chest to chest. His eyes turn upwards and he swallows when he makes eye contact with Bruce, who holds him tightly against himself. Tim’s arms are trapped between them, and he feebly tries to push the man away. He doesn’t even blink, however, and Tim just sags against the firm hold.

“Why…?” Tim croaks out, his voice cracking through the congestion and the ache of his sobs.

One of Bruce’s heavy hands slides up the nape of his neck to rest on the back of his head, pulling softly until Tim’s nose is buried against the curve of Bruce’s shoulder up to his neck. Almost instinctively, he takes a deep inhale, but he can’t smell anything through his stuffed nose. He sniffles at his disappointment, beating himself up over it the second he does it.

Bruce’s hand, still resting on the back of his head, is a warm presence. He rubs a calloused thumb against the skin behind one ear, tucking them together more firmly until he nearly encompasses Tim completely.

He can’t help it, it’s too much.

Tim burst into tears once more.

All throughout his fit, Bruce doesn’t lighten his grip. He doesn’t pull away or move beyond the small, soothing gestures of his hands. When his shirt gets more and more damp under Tim’s onslaught, he doesn’t seem to care, only shifting Tim just a bit when it gets too wet so that he can spread his tears to a drier spot. The first time that happens, it brings on an even greater wash of tears.

A long time later, so much longer than Tim could understand, Tim has cried himself out. Blinking dazedly, he realizes that it’s starting to turn dark out. He can’t believe or process the thought that he must have been crying most of the day, so he turns his focus away. He finds himself looking back up at Bruce. In a moment, though, he realizes what a mess he must look and tries to bring his head down.

Tries, being the operative word. Instead, he doesn’t manage to do so as Bruce moves the hand on him from the back of his head to the side, cupping over his ear and his cheek, holding him so gently, but firm enough that it would take more effort than Tim can manage right now to pull away. He doesn’t even have the energy to flinch when the thumb that had been rubbing soothing circles instead runs under his eye, swiping away the wetness there. Tim sniffles again, and when that eye closes from the gesture, the other swiftly follows. It would take a significant amount of effort to open his eyes, but he can’t even start to try before his mind drifts away.

He’s sure he only imagines the soft press of lips against his forehead as he falls into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

* * *

Awareness returns slowly, much slower than it has any right to, considering how Tim has trained himself to be up at a moment’s notice. His eyes flutter, but don’t open, and his hand merely twitches when he tries to close it. He starts to panic but it’s replaced by something else when a familiar hand rests on his head, moving to pet his hair soothingly. It’s surprisingly relaxing, and Tim finds himself able to think again.

It’s hard to ignore the reality when Bruce is right there and… oh, Tim’s head must be resting on one of his thighs. Bruce doesn’t rush him, apparently giving him the time that he needs as Tim hears what must be the sound of a page being turned one-handed. He’d tell the man to use his other hand, but it doesn’t stop petting him and even if he could speak, he doesn’t know if he’d be able. If he would even be able to tell him to take that soothing hand away.

How long has he been here? Surely not the whole night.

His eyes flutter, unable to open, and he slips once more into a light sleep.

* * *

The next time he wakes, Tim feels a little clearer. He’s on his side still, though posed in a way that makes him think he’s going to roll over soon. But he can’t, his head tucked against Bruce’s hip.

His eyes snap open at that.

The instinctive bolt into a sitting position is stalled by one giant hand laying itself gently on his chest. God, it practically spans his whole clavicle, why did he have to take so much after his mother? He doesn’t resist, though, and the light pressure lets up, but the hand doesn’t move. Tim is trying to build up the courage and will to ask him to move when Bruce speaks.

“You’ve been asleep for a while, let’s get you something to eat.” Tim blinks at this, and at the fact though his tone implies that they would be moving to get said food, the hand doesn’t even twitch. It does so, however, when he looks back down at it, just a small jump. When the hand gently pulls away, Tim has to swallow back the sudden desire to grab it back. It’s stupid, though, so he shoves the thought away and rolls to kneel on his knees as Bruce moves to the edge of the bed.

His bed.

Tim blinks the that thought away and looks up at Bruce, following after the man when he sees him waiting at the door. He shuffles after the man until they reach the dining room, where Bruce directs him to sit before poking into the kitchen, presumably to speak to Alfred. He can’t help but look out the window…

What? Tim frowns, it’s dark out. His eyes glace over to the nearby wall clock and widen. Midnight. It’s midnight, a time maybe a couple hours into a standard patrol. Is that why there’s no one else around? But then why is Bruce here?

He doesn’t see Bruce returning, eyes glued to the clock, so he jumps when he feels a hand cup his shoulder. When Tim looks to the man, Bruce’s expression is rather sad, but Tim can’t identify why, but he doesn’t want to see it on that face. So, he asks, “Why aren’t you out patrolling?”

Bruce sits down on the chair next to him instead of his own at the head of the table. “Dick, Jason, and Damian are all out right now, collaborating with Stephanie and Cassandra. Barbara promised to alert us of any… immediate issues.”

That doesn’t really answer his question and Tim continues to stare, but it gets a bit of a smile from the man. “I’m not out because I needed to be here more.”

That… Tim blinks, that is technically an answer to his question. However, he can’t quite connect the dots yet. He wonders if it’s because of the crying mess and subsequent sleep. So, he clears his throat and manages to speak softly, “Needed?”

Bruce hums in agreement, sending Alfred a small smile as the older man brings out a tray of food, with two steaming mugs. The food turns out to be a variety of sandwiches, fruit, and what smells like maple scones. Tim is disappointed to find that the mugs hold tea instead of his beloved coffee, but he sips at it dutifully under Alfred’s stern gaze. It’s light and easy enough to eat, so Tim manages to nibble as Alfred and Bruce exchange a few words. He isn’t really listening, but he does eventually notice that the elderly man has left.

Looking around and then up at Bruce, he tilts his head for his question, since his mouth is full. There’s an odd quirk of Bruce’s lips but it is quickly gone. “Alfred is going to check on the others for us.”

“Oh,” Tim manages after he swallows. He wants to say more but can only blink when Bruce none-to-subtly puts another small sandwich on his plate. It’s his favorite kind, too. Tim can only stare at it a moment but is distracted by a movement in the corner of his eye. Bruce is taking a long drink of his tea, his eyes closed and his face rather peaceful. Tim doesn’t realize he’s staring until similar blue eyes blink open and glance over at him. He quickly ducks his head and picks up the sandwich as some sort of defense.

After the sandwich is gone, Tim places his hands on the table and considers the best way to flee without it being seen as fleeing. However, his spiraling thoughts are interrupted by Bruce gently taking one of his hands in his larger one. He holds it so softly, carefully, that suddenly Tim feels like spun glass held in the hands of a master craftsman. The thought makes his eyes wet, but he doesn’t have the energy to cry again, even with all that sleep, so it’s easy enough to hold back.

“Tim.” He looks up at Bruce, who is turned in his chair to better face him, “I’m sorry.”

A blink. Tim is at a loss.

Bruce’s expression turns sad, “I am sorry that I never noticed what I was doing to you. How when I left you to your own devices so often and didn’t check in enough…” Tim opens his mouth to speak when Bruce softly squeezes their joined hands to stop him. “I thought I was giving you freedom. I trusted you would always do your best and knew you could handle so much, more than I could ever think to manage. But in doing so, I never gave you the acknowledgement I should have for your accomplishments. I never made myself available for help or just for conversation.”

Tim gulps, swallowing the emotions building up in his chest, trying to fight their way out of his throat. When Bruce brings up his hand to rest Tim’s hand against his stubbly cheek, he can’t help but let out a soft gasp. “I thought I was doing the best for you, but I can see now that it wasn’t what you needed.”

“W-“ Tim chokes and tries again, “Why?”

“Hm,” Bruce doesn’t speak for a moment, closing his eyes. Tim’s hand is still against his cheek, the slight prickle making the skin tingle but if anything, Tim would keep it there forever. As he tries to stuff that thought into repression, as usual, Bruce speaks up again. “When we were… shrunk, I suppose, you treated us in a way that acknowledged our age and equivalent memories. However, you did not hold yourself back from other things. Another adult would likely have stopped Dick from swinging around the house, but you just told him to leave the chandeliers alone and kept an eye out. Jason was naturally very suspicious and wary, but the person he warmed up to first was you, Tim.”

Tim blinks at that, and Bruce smiles, “We all noticed that he would go hide by himself when he was feeling overwhelmed or scared, but it hardly took 3 days before he started going to you for things like that. Damian was a menace, even being so small and restricted, but you treated him well, holding him frequently and putting him down at the first sign of distress or discomfort with touch. Though you never left his sight when needed. You just knew these things. Either from your own experiences or your knowledge of us.”

His hand twitches against Bruce’s cheek, but he hardly notices, too busy staring at the man. “What… What about you?”

Bruce blinks and his lips turn in a small, embarrassed smile that makes Tim’s heart lurch. “You should know, Tim, that I was a rather angsty preteen the first time around. I fought and raged against anything and everything.” He chuckles when Tim’s face scrunches in confusion. “You did it so naturally, you know. Every time I wanted to complain or fight, you turned me around on my head, either by directing me another way or tearing my reasons for doing so apart so easily that I wanted to be mad at that. But how could I be?” Tim’s heart _throbs_ when Bruce tilts his head and his hand is moved just enough for his wrist to press against Bruce’s lips, only just close enough to feel them move as he speaks.

“Because even in my less knowledgeable state, I could see your earnest and loving nature.” The sigh he lets out sends a wave of damp heat against the skin of his wrist and Tim swallows, his mind and heart racing. “You didn’t treat us like most people would treat a child, as I said. Every time you redirected me and had me think things through, you treated it as a serious matter, not as just a stupid, rebellious child just trying to get attention or the like.”

Tim instinctively tenses, his fingers curling against Bruce’s cheek, “I would never-“

Bruce presses his smile more firmly against his wrist, “I know, Tim.”

While Tim tries to keep his very skin from bursting into flames, Bruce finally brings his smaller hand down from his face, resting it in his palm and laces their fingers together. “Not only are you able to treat people as they should be treated as a whole, you treated us in the best way to make sure we stayed safe and happy. I…” Bruce’s smile fades, “I know now just how badly we all were treating you. When I close my eyes, I can see you holding a small Damian, Jason and Dick tugging at your legs…” His smile strengthens just a bit, turning wistful, “Even after everything we’ve put you through, you were still so willing to care for our situation and for us as individuals.”

We treated you as replaceable, something to pick up when needed and put away when not. Not as a part of the family but as a commodity. So, I am, as Jason would say, ‘Pulling my head out of my ass.’” Bruce looks up from their hands into Tim’s eyes, radiating the kind of determination Tim has only seen him give when lives were on the line. “I am refusing to return to the way it was, Tim. I will do better by you and so will the others.”

Oh.

_Oh_.

Tim thought he’d been cried out, but it turns out he was wrong. Very wrong, considering the number of tears falling down his face. He vaguely sees Bruce reach out and then bring a bottle of water up to him, pressing the top to his lips and helping him drink. Distantly, he understands that this is probably to help with the dehydration. For now, though, the only thing he could focus on was the burn of his cheeks in the shame of crying _again_ and the hope bubbling up from his stomach to scorch a path up to his throat.

“I-Ihh-I-“ Bruce hums softly, encouraging but not insistent. He can barely speak without his throat trying to twist but he tries, “I d-duh-nt w-wan-nht…” He chokes, frustrated and desperate, “D-dohnt wanna _hope_ ag-again!” With it out, he clenches his eyes shut, curling in on himself.

He can’t register the passing of time in this state, but he’s been sobbing again for several moments before Bruce moves. He slowly pushes his chair out and before Tim can even think about that, he bends down and picks him up, holding him easily in a princess carry. Immediately he turns inward, tucking his head against the crook of Bruce’s neck and bawling.

Faintly he registers them moving and then being placed back on his bed. Bruce climbs in with him, tucking his smaller form around his own and letting Tim get comfortable in his position practically on top of him. Tim quiets for a moment, the tears not stopping but the sobs turn to weaker hitches of breath for now. He sniffles when a soft towel is gently pressed to his face, dabbing at his snot and tears.

“Tim.” He can’t look up or move much, so he curls his hand into Bruce’s shirt in acknowledgement. “I can’t promise that I won’t… that _we_ won’t mess up again. We’re terrible creatures of habit, us bats.” Tim manages a soft chuckle at that, “But I’m sorry. I selfishly want you to hope again, Tim, because I know I don’t deserve another chance. But I want to _try_ ,” He runs a hand through Tim’s hair, tucking a lock of it behind one ear, following the curve of it with his thumb. “Give me one more chance, Tim. And if I mess up again, kick me to the curb or whatever you need to do. Don’t stand in silence anymore. Don’t stand for our failures anymore, Tim.”

Tim feels the tears returning, but he struggles to hold them back for just another moment-

“ _I love you, Tim_.”

He cries.

* * *

It’s been a week since the “incident.” A week since they returned to their normal forms and Tim spent around 36 hours either crying or sleeping on Bruce. A week and already things are changing.

His… His brothers are… still adjusting. Fights are far too easy, still, and barbs are thrown frequently. The difference is that they generally don’t stalk off still angry. They attempt to start talking things through, apologizing, or saying something to offset their previous words. They leave him alone when he needs it, but they don’t stay away for long, and he has more offers of help with any of the cases he’s working. Nobody has tried to stab him this week and he even let Dick hug him once. Cass asked to spend the night with him sometime soon, just the two of them. It’s not going to be an easy habit for any of them, but the mere idea that they are trying makes Tim nauseous with the swells of happiness and connected fear of them _stopping_.

Bruce had asked that he stay at the manor a bit longer and not go out as Red Robin. In turn, he also would not do patrol unless necessary (by everyone’s definition, surprisingly), and they would work together on things that had been building up from Wayne Enterprises. Paperwork, plans, proposals, and the like were all tossed around, the conversation a bit stilted but easy enough with the common interest in the well-being of the company.

It’s nice, sitting next to Bruce again.

* * *

Bruce is still rather emotionally constipated, but the sheer determination in which he tries to open up to Tim is something that he can’t think on long, lest his mind go too far.

Tim will admit to himself that he had a crush on Batman for a long time, and it only turned into a crush on Bruce some time into his stint as Robin. It was easy enough to push aside or ignore when he was younger, too busy with things in life like school, his parents, vigilantism, and so on. He had thought often about Bruce being his father, even before his own actually died, which always made him feel terribly guilty.

But not long before Bruce had been thrown through time, Tim had realized that he’d grown to love the man, no matter what his mind tried to say. He had thrown that love, that terrible burn, into his search for the man and brought him home, despite all of the obstacles. Despite Ra’s attempts and Dicks’ doubts. Despite Damian’s anger and the enemies that tormented him.

He shouldn’t have been surprised to not be thanked for it, but he had let himself hope. But here he is, hoping once more. And he knows that if this hope is broken again, there will be no coming back from it. He wouldn’t ever be able to look at them again if he didn’t outright shatter.

But _God,_ he can’t stop it. He can’t fight it. He wants so _desperately_ that he _has_ to hope because if he doesn’t then there will be nothing left of him.

Nothing left of Timothy Drake-Wayne.

Nothing left of _Tim_.

* * *

It’s a few months later when he finds a note on his desk at WE. Tim had been switching days on the job with Bruce, so neither of them were there a whole week at a time, week after week. He’d just returned from a trip with the Titans that took a few days. It had been fun, spending time with them fighting crime and just hanging out.

Tim picks up the note, which is blank and plain note paper, folded in half with his name written on it. He opens it and is vaguely surprised at the short message.

_I’ll be picking you up at 12:30 for lunch._

_Don’t expect to get back before 1:30._

_Bruce_

He blinks and turns his head to his printed schedule for the day. Notably, the meeting that had been scheduled for 1 pm is absent, though he was quite sure it had been there not long ago. He had been anticipating it with dread because dealing with Mr. Robinson is not something he enjoys.

But it’s gone, and he doesn’t know if that means it’s scheduled for later or something else. A quick flip through his monthly schedule, he doesn’t see another meeting scheduled. Did Bruce take that meeting? He can’t help but smile at the thought. Mr. Robinson, decked out in his awful suit, ranting and railing about the poor and their imposition on big business and how we should be focuses on widening the gap further. Bruce sitting behind his desk, chin propped on his entwined hands and holding on to that pasted smile with all his strength. Bouncing words back and forth, meaning flying over the idiot’s head and his words testing Bruce’s incredible patience.

Tim lets himself laugh out loud at the thought and decides not to worry about it anymore.

* * *

What started as lunches together and rescheduled meetings turns into dinners and days out. Those turn into going on business trips together and movie nights for just the two of them. It doesn’t really occur to Tim what might be going on until Cass brings it up.

They’d been in Tim’s bed, sitting nearly curled around each other, doing their own thing. Tim was browsing a site called “recipes you can’t fuck up” on his phone while Cass had his other hand in her lap, painting the nails a bright pink.

“How goes…” she pauses a moment, searching for the right words, “wo… hm, sway?”

Tim has gotten particularly good at understanding Cass, but here he is at a loss. He tries, though, “Sway… swaying? I don’t think I’m trying to change or convince anyone or anything…” He squints at her, “Am I?” She hums again and struggles for the words, Tim looking back down at his phone to give her the time she needs.

“You and Bruce. Dancing? Around each other.” She obviously knows little of the context of the statement but is confident enough that they mean what she wants. Before he can ask, Cass keeps going. “Bruce trying to… sway you.”

“Bruce?” Tim blinks and tilts his head, “Bruce is trying to convince me of something? Dancing around… Bruce and I are avoiding something that has to do with the two of us?” Cass nods, “But then is Bruce trying to sway my choice in something or…?” He isn’t quite sure.

Cass pouts, a bit frustrated. “You… love each other. Bruce wants more.”

Tim blinks and then feels faint at the confusing rush of blood in his body when it, either trying to pale or flush and being unable to decide, does both. He coughs and tries to pull away half-heartedly, but Cass keeps a grip on his wrist, keeping his freshly painted nails safe. “C-Cass what- “

“Bruce wants to marry you.”

His vision does something funny and in the next moment he finds himself leaning against Cass, his head against her shoulder. She’s gone back to painting his nails while he tries to collect himself. Feeling unwilling to move yet, he sighs and tries to relax. “Really?”

Cass hums.

They slip into silence for a while longer, Tim trying to sort out his thoughts while Cass starts on the second coat. He absent-mindedly admires his other hand and her outstanding paintjob on those nails. Maybe he should ask her to do his toes, too.

Eventually he manages to speak again, “Hey, do you think the others would be okay with it? Are _you_ okay with it?”

“Should be happy. Happy Tim is best Tim.” Tim chuckles at that, relaxing more. “Others will…” she scrunches her nose, “come around?” He nods in encouragement and she continues. “Will come around. May worry or… scared at start. Want safe.”

Tim can’t fight his small smile anymore and he buries his face against her shoulder. “Thanks, sis.”

Cass kisses the part of his forehead she can reach and goes back to his nails.

* * *

Now that he’s been made aware of it, Tim takes some time to observe it for himself.

Bruce had been rather touchy recently with everyone, claiming that he wasn’t going to back to being so distant. Head and shoulder patting, resting a hand on their upper back, the occasional hair ruffle… Even a hug, here and there. None of these things were too unusual for them all now.

However…

Tim blinks and only years of practice keep him from tensing when Bruce rests his hand on Tim’s lower back, leaning forward just a bit to see what Tim had called him over for. He’s not sure how he hadn’t noticed this before, considering how hyper-aware he always feels in the man’s presence. He’s certain he’s done it plenty of times before, too, as the move had been too easy and casual for anything else.

When Tim hands something to Bruce, or even to Batman, his fingers linger just long enough to not be suspicious to anyone but a Bat. And even then, Tim hadn’t noticed before, but seeing it now it’s more obvious how he always seems reluctant to let go. He even takes things that are big enough to grab by itself in a way that brushes their hands. It’s rather startling sometimes.

Even more startling is when the hands on his lower back (sometimes low enough to get Tim holding back a blush) also rest on the back of his neck. His hair is just long enough that it’s easy for it to thread through Bruce’s fingers when Bruce cups the back of his neck and base of his head. It’s a hold that almost always instantly relaxes him, to an embarrassing degree. He’s thankful that it only tends to be a gesture Bruce does when they’re alone. Working on cases or work together, chatting over another dinner out… Tim finds that Bruce will do it more often when Tim is worked up.

Tim notices that Jason, Dick, and Damian don’t get flowers delivered to them at work. They don’t spend so many meals with the man, let alone ones out in public. Tim checked after the realization and discovered that the others didn’t have mysteriously appearing articles of clothing in their closets. (He’s not going to complain, though, because Bruce’s shirts make the comfiest pajamas.) Also, he finds the occasional gift as well. Like a small bottle of cologne that he’d recently admitted to liking that appeared on his wardrobe one day.

With everything adding up, Tim can’t deny it anymore, so he spends a few days working through it. He is attracted to Bruce. Bruce is apparently attracted to him. There are several hurdles in the way of such a relationship, but most of those are if they come out to the public. It might have some issues in the super community, but not nearly as many. He’s sure that Bruce would prefer to keep it quiet, at least at first, but Tim’s not sure how long he’d want to wait if they did get together.

Pondering deeply, Tim takes another sip of his coffee. Maybe now that he’s done his observations, he can encourage Bruce to do his own. Making himself available even more and maybe reacting in certain ways after a time? His heart already flutters in Bruce’s presence, it won’t be at all difficult to bring a bit of attention to it.

Tim’s 19 now, and his 20th birthday is in several months. Maybe he could make that his deadline. Depending on Bruce’s responses, Tim can either pull something obvious or encourage taking things a step further.

Getting up to put his mug by the sink, he settles his mind on the idea of a plan. It will take time to work out and go through with, but he’s sure that it will work. He heads down to put on his suit and checks the patrol schedule to get an idea where Bruce will be tonight.

Might as well get started sooner rather than later.

* * *

After a full year of the de-aging incident, things have been going well. Tim will often still hesitate before returning hugs or initiating his own. Jason is still quick to curse, but not usually at Tim. Damian only really attacks Tim these days during a spar or in a “subtle” request for said spar. They’ve all helped mellow Dick out a bit, so while still very exuberant, he is less prone to dragging them all out on excursions without at least warning them a bit ahead of time. Cass was much closer to all of them, now, but she was still and probably would always be closest to Tim.

Bruce… Bruce was rather inconsistent in the beginning. Wanting to smother them all in his repressed affection and feelings and then jumping back, fearing he did something wrong. It was only through the man’s own stubborn determination and the other’s willingness (any reluctance had been quietly beaten out of them all by Alfred individually behind closed doors) that he managed to find himself more towards a middle ground between the two extremes.

Jason is not an idiot, however, and while he can acknowledge that Dick and Damian are generally rather smart for the most part, it’s times like this where he starts to question.

He might not have been explicitly aware of the fact beforehand, but he’d always thought of Tim as Bruce’s favorite. It was a fact, and an obvious one to him. Every time Bruce would look to Tim first for something, or offer something, or mention something, it was usually _for_ Tim or _involved_ Tim. The only reason that it didn’t piss Jason off something fierce was because Bruce seemed largely unaware of it, and Tim even more so.

But this… Jason pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to run through his metal exercises so he didn’t snap out. See? He’s getting better. He hasn’t shot anyone in, like, 2 weeks. Anyway.

Tim is standing in front of him, looking rather bashful and Jason pinches a bit harder for a moment before letting go with a sigh. “Alright, so, you’re… You’re trying to, what, woo him back?”

“Uh,” Tim tries to smother a small bubbling laugh. “Well, I suppose? I mean, I’m sure that maybe half of the stuff he’s been doing is based on conscious decisions. So, I guess I just want to make sure, partly.” He shifts on his feet, rubbing one of his arms.

It’s fucking endearing and Jason gives up. “Alright. So, you’ve been trying to lead Bruce to make a decision either way while gauging our own responses to it and you… What, didn’t expect us to realize?”

“Well, no…?” Tim stops rubbing but leaves his hand on his arm. “I mean, I fully expected you all to realize at some point, hopefully after… um, I don’t know, actually.”

Jason sighs and Tim clears his throat, putting one hand on a hip and the other up to rub his neck. The kid is nervous as hell and Jason grunts, stepping forward. Ignoring the slight flinch, he pushes Tim’s shoulder to turn him and places his hand between his shoulder blades to encourage him forward. “Come on, I’m not having this kind of conversation without alcohol.”

Tim quirks a smile, “You have a problem, Jason.”

“I have many problems, Timberlina,” he snorts, “Don’t discount the violent tendencies.”

“Or the mental instability?” Tim offers, his hesitancy barely noticeable but there.

Jason pushes him a bit, gently, “I am the paragon of stability, brat.”

The laugh he gets is a balm to his worries and Jason forces himself to loosen up. He’ll get the whole story out of Tim now and then make his choice. Jason doesn’t want to admit to himself yet that he’d probably end up helping in some way regardless, but if he did admit it, he’d blame Tim entirely. The kid is too damn sweet and Jason too damn soft.

Jason will bring hell to Bruce if he fucks up, though.

* * *

It’s July 19th.

Tim’s 20th birthday.

Jason had been a different kind of support than Cass, but he doesn’t appreciate it any less. The man has certainly had plenty of fun mocking Dick and Damian and their obliviousness towards the situation, but Cass is of the mind that Dick doesn’t want to acknowledge it and Damian, despite being a teen now, doesn’t understand how much of that works. Though he probably wouldn’t want to acknowledge it either, even with their more positive relationship. Tim wonders if those reasons are actually different, but he doesn’t want to interrupt their friendly debates.

Tim had been spending the last few days between parties, both large and small, with different groups of superheroes and friends. Today, the actual day of his birthday, is being spent at the manor with immediate family. Bruce, Dick, Jason, Cass, Damian, and Alfred. Babs and Stephanie came as well, but Steph couldn’t stay long due to other commitments. She had already spent another day with him, though, during the party with other Gotham vigilantes, so he didn’t mind.

Alfred had gone all out, making many of Tim’s favorite foods along with other family favorites. Dick had decorated the whole mansion, dragging a willing Steph and a half-heartedly complaining Damian along with him. Jason rolls his eyes at the gesture, commenting about how they didn’t need to decorate every room considering they don’t even use half of the ones in the mansion. That argument kept the pair out of the way for a while.

Cass pats his shoulder, drawing Tim’s attention back to her. He nods when she tilts her head and lets her lead him out of the room. They’d just finished watching the Star Wars prequels, some only doing it grudgingly after Tim had wobbled his lower lip at them and Cass and Alfred had glared at them from behind Tim’s head. He’s pretty sure it was the latter that did most of the convincing, no matter what Cass says.

As Cass pulls him from the room, he smiles at Alfred and lets him know they’ll be back soon for dinner. The man nods knowingly and comments that they should make sure to keep an eye on the time. They acknowledge the advice and Cass pulls at his sleeve, making him laugh. “It’s like you’re more exited about this than I am.”

Cass huffs but quirks a smile as they make their way quickly up the stairs and head to his room. “Not. But excited, yes.”

“Of course you are,” Tim rolls his eyes, but the effect is probably lessened by his wide grin.

“Come,” she insists, pushing him into his room and getting a yelp for it. She chuckles and closes the door, shutting them off from a lingering gaze. Cass hums, amused, before getting to work before Tim can ask.

* * *

Bruce can’t help but watch Cassandra drag Tim away, wondering what they were up to. He’s distracted quickly by Jason dragging him into his argument with Dick, however, and he disguises the fact that he doesn’t know what they’re talking about only with through his years of experience. He does get caught up in the conversation relatively quickly, however. It is put to a stop when Alfred calls them all for dinner.

The plan is dinner, cake, then presents, and Bruce’s stomach is still twisting over his gift. He hopes Tim will like it.

They’re all seated at the table, Alfred off to get the rest of the food, when he notices that Tim and Cass still haven’t returned. Steph had left earlier, after getting an oddly specific promise about photos from Jason. Looking around, he sees Damian pouting over the party hat Dick had forced on him. Dick is laughing, talking at Jason, who is distracted and tapping away at his phone.

Alfred comes in with the cake, placing it in the center of the table. Looking around at the table, he raises an eyebrow before looking to the door. Bruce follows his gaze and blinks when Cass strolls in, followed quickly by Tim.

“Sorry for the wait, Alfred,” Tim says but Bruce doesn’t hear much after that, an odd buzzing static filling his ears.

Tim’s hair is styled, his sweeping bangs curling more around his cheeks while the rest of his hair has been pulled back in a small French twist that showed off his slender neck. His eyes follow the curve down with his eyes, landing on exposed skin and realizing that Tim’s shirt was looser than before. Blinking, he realizes that it’s the same shirt, but… It must have been secured differently, before, to tighten it across his shoulders. Now it’s loose, showing off sharp collarbones and the slope of his shoulders. The shirt is knotted at his hip, emphasizing their shape. 

Swallowing, Bruce realizes that he knows that shirt.

It’s his.

Is it one of the ones he’d slipped into Tim’s closet? He’s not actually sure and he can’t focus enough to remember. It’s a deep blue one, with short sleeves and a V-neck, and Bruce realizes then that it’s one he’d originally bought for himself. He’d gotten it because it reminded him of Tim’s eyes.

Oh no.

* * *

Cass’s glare is the only thing that gets him to step into that room through the sudden flood of shyness and doubt. Her grip is unrelenting as she drags him to the dining room and stares him down outside the view of the open door. Finally, he relents and nods, shoving his fight-or-flight instinct aside and following her through the doorway.

He sees Alfred giving them a look and he apologizes bashfully, knowing that it was his fault for the delay. Cass had worked speedily, after all, and it was only his own nerves that slowed them down. She had wielded the curler with skill and had styled his hair and outfit deftly. They had originally adjusted the shirt to seem more like his common loungewear so as not to set off any mental alarms too early. But Jason said that the realization that it had been the same shirt all along would be one of the hardest hits. Tim was a bit doubtful, but willing to trust Jason’s experience.

Looking now, however…

Tim only allows himself to glance at the man for a moment, flashing him and the others an apologetic look, but it’s enough. He can practically feel the fiery gaze travelling across his form and he quickly has to distract himself lest he give the game away too soon. Jason’s gleeful look is partially hidden by his phone, presumably recording everything. He wonders if he’s actually using his phone for the whole thing or if there are camera placed around, but the thought passes as he focuses on Alfred serving him first.

It’s a traditional birthday gesture, and Alfred nods at Tim’s thanks, “Of course, Master Tim. I do expect to see your plate empty before anyone has cake, by the way. Do keep that in mind.” While not an unusual ask from the man when it came to Tim, he’s a bit surprised at him putting the cake on the line. He glances over to it, squinting as if trying to see what makes it so special. Alfred chuckles and pats his shoulder, “Do enjoy, Master Tim.”

“Of course, Alfred.” Tim smiles after him as he goes to serve the rest in the standard order, going to Bruce next. He lets his eyes catch Bruce’s but makes sure that his posture and gaze are loose. Raising an eyebrow and glancing over to the cake, Tim tilts his head as if asking if he knew anything special about the cake.

Swallowing back laughter when the man visibly startles as Alfred serves him, Tim shrugs and looks away. He almost lets out the laugh bubbling in the back of his throat when he sees Jason’s face, but a cough and looking down at his plate help well enough. Tim knows his cheeks must be burning, but he plays it off by ignoring it.

Dinner is wonderful and full of casual conversation. Dick manages to pull Bruce out of his own head (“Hey Bruce, you good? You’re looking a little weird, there, you should eat more of the sarma!”) and Damian only tries to stab someone once, when Jason tries to snatch the last dumpling which happens to be on the boy’s plate. Tim keeps bringing up a hand to mess with his bangs or tuck them behind his ear, but each time he’s smacked with a spoon or pinched by Cass and he’s very much ready for the cake now, please.

Fortunately for Tim, Alfred accepts help in cutting the cake and he is soon handed the first piece. He perks up in delight to see that it’s his one of his favorites: marble cake with strawberry buttercream frosting. He’d been hopeful when he saw the strawberries but really, he shouldn’t have doubted the man like this. It’s even drizzled with something which, when Tim tastes it, is actually coffee-flavored chocolate. Tim can’t help the completely genuine, moan of delight when he tastes it. He snatches up the carafe Alfred had put next to him and finds that it’s more of the coffee-chocolate mixture and he practically bounces in his seat.

“Alfred, I am sorry for ever doubting your genius,” Tim says seriously. His true favorite types of cake all involve coffee, but this is his favorite without any. This is the best sort of compromise, and the man is even allowing him to doctor it with more delicious coffee goodness!

Alfred smiles at the sparkles surrounding the man, “I’m sure you’ll make up for it, Master Tim.”

Tim hums in confirmation, already attacking his slice of cake while the others are getting theirs. He blinks when he realizes Damian is glaring at him fiercely. Looking up, he sees that Dick is choking on his piece, Jason is red-faced from holding his breath, and Cass has a smug smirk on her face.

Bruce has his head in his hands.

Swallowing, Tim can only just bring himself to ask, “What’s wrong?”

Dick coughs harshly and Jason bursts into a fit of laughter. Damian’s glare turns darker, “You are being obscene, Timothy. It is embarrassing.”

Tim blinks, “What?”

Damian sneers but is interrupted before he can respond by Dick loudly and frantic cry of, “W-Wow, this sure is good cake! But it’s time for presents, isn’t it? We should- Let’s go now!” He jumps from his seat so quickly that the chair tilts precariously on two legs for a moment before falling to the ground with the man dashes over to Tim. He yelps when he’s lifted straight from his seat and, held in Dick’s arms, is taken from the room.

“Dick?! Wait! I haven’t finished my cake, you asshole!”

“You can finish it later!”

“What-!”

Their voices fade as they presumably head towards the sitting room where they had collected the presents. Bruce hasn’t moved an inch, his face still in his hands. Jason’s smirk is viciously delighted and Damian scowls at him, visibly confused. About to ask, Jason winks and places a finger to his lips. Damian closes his mouth reluctantly but follows easily enough when Jason stands after Cassandra.

“Come on, B! If you don’t hurry up, Dickie’s gonna get his present opened first!” Jason’s voice is savagely bright, and Damian narrows his eyes at Cass when she only smirks and leads them towards the door. “Last one there’s a rotten egg!”

Damian is pulled out of the door and down the hall before he can manage to speak. “What is going on? What are you up to?”

Cass chuckles and Jason pats him on the back, “Don’t worry about it, baby bat. The big, bad Batman just needs a moment to compose himself.”

“Those noises Timothy made were truly disgusting,” Damian nods in agreement, but quickly notices that they only smirk wider at that. “Wait. What are you implying?”

“Like I said, don’t worry about it. We wouldn’t want you to be traumatized.”

“What?!”

* * *

Tim follows the plan, and he takes each gift that Jason hands him. After opening it, he gets up for each one and goes to the one who got it for him, giving them a kiss on the cheek. He gives Damian his on the forehead, because the boy tries to shove him away in his flustered state and it’s what he can reach. Alfred takes his with the same dignity with which he exists, and Dick gets a hug out of it as well. Jason smacks him on the butt when he turns back to his seat, getting a yelp and a laugh, while Cass kisses his cheek in return.

Jason hands him the last gift – Bruce’s. He can’t help his teary eyes when he opens the box to find a beautiful new camera. It looks like it has both digital and film capabilities, but it’s not so bulky as to be unusual. It’s _amazing_.

When Tim sniffles and doesn’t immediately show off the gift, Jason steps closer to look. He whistles, “Damn, Bruce! Put us all to shame, why don’t you?”

“Why, what is it?” Dick asks, trying to peer around Jason’s bulk.

Tim finally manages to pull it out to show them and Dick whistles, too. “Wow!”

When everyone has had a moment to admire and comment, Tim holds the camera to his chest as he gets up and walks over to Bruce. He hesitates when he stops in front of where the man is sitting. Instead of following what he had intended to do, he bends and lays a lingering kiss on Bruce’s cheek, ever so close to the corner of his mouth. “Thank you, Bruce,” he whispers against skin. He pulls back and doesn’t look the man in the eye, feeling his face start to burn. He hurries back over to his seat and puts the camera with the other gifts. Dick leads them in another round of singing “Happy Birthday” before Alfred brings a platter of drinks for them to enjoy while they spend time together.

* * *

Later that night, Tim makes his choice.

They had wrapped up for the night not too long ago, with Bruce, Jason, and Damian going out to patrol while the rest of them did clean-up and spent some more time together. Tim managed to sneak another slice of cake before Alfred put it away from the night. Overall, it had been an amazing day and Tim is determined to end it right.

So, after the rest are in bed, Tim sneaks into Bruce’s room. Taking a look around, he pokes his nose in things, just out of curiosity. After he is content with looking through Bruce’s things, he curls up on the king-size bed to wait for him to return.

He dozes off a few times, but he lets himself because he’s sure that he’ll know when Bruce returns.

Which he does. At some point the door opens and it stays open for another moment, the large shadow in the doorway hesitating. Tim blinks at him, waiting and wondering what he’ll do if the man turns around. He doesn’t have to, however, as eventually Bruce steps in and closes the door behind himself. Tim stays curled up on the bed, cuddling one of the pillows while the man finishes up his before-bed routine.

Tim shifts closer once Bruce sits on the edge of the bed, one leg tucked up so he can face the younger man. He smiles softly up at him, “Hi.”

Bruce’s lips quirk a bit, “Hi.”

“Bruce?” He hums and Tim reaches out to twist a finger in Bruce’s loose shirt. He’s wearing one of Bruce’s old button ups along with boxers, and he can feel the man looking. “Will you keep me?”

He gets a blink, his face creasing slightly in confusion, before it smooths out. Bruce raises a hand and brushes his knuckles against the soft skin of Tim’s cheek. “Are you sure you want me to?” Tim nods and the hand moves to rest on Tim’s shoulder. “Then will you be mine, Tim?”

“Yeah.”

It’s quiet in the room, the soft hum of the AC is barely noticeable, and the sounds of the night are fading as it starts to turn into day. The sun will be up in a couple hours, and it’s time for all good creatures of the night to go to sleep. So, Tim tugs on Bruce’s shirt and he follows. After some adjustment, they are lying together under the covers.

Bruce lies on his back, tilted just a bit towards Tim, and Tim curls up against him while he tucks his head in the curve of Bruce’s shoulder. With that arm holding him close, Tim wraps one of his arms around his stomach and drapes the other across Bruce’s chest. The large hand rests on his hip and the thumb rubs gentle circles against the dip of it.

Tim sighs in contentment, “Hey, Bruce?” His human pillow hums, “I love you.”

The thumb on his hip stops for several seconds before resuming. Bruce’s broad chest grumbles under him when he speaks. “I love you too, Tim.”


End file.
